The Gradient of Now

The sunset in Malibu last night was vibes

The world moves in a continuous gradient that humans have to break into discrete units in order to measure. But there are no specific points in time or space. 

There are no specific colors. 

There are no specific people.

We use minutes to break down the endless flow of time into neat little building blocks so that our brains can decipher them.

Time’s true form is shaped more like a psychic Möbius strip than a continuous line from the past to the future. 

The past and the future are interwoven and in constant relationship to each other, creating one infinite edge that folds back onto itself.

For an event to have happened in the “past,” it would have needed to occur at a discrete time. But the more you examine time, the more it slips through your fingers like sand.

St. Augustine said, “I know what time is, but when you ask me, I don’t.”

Every moment only exists in relation to other moments.

We use personal and collective history to create mental hooks that compress the vast calculus of time into a manageable “file.”

When, exactly, does a moment in time begin or end?

Is a child born the moment she leaves the birth canal and is breathing oxygen on our side of the womb? Is she born when the sperm fertilizes the egg; or when the cells of the egg are created?

Maybe she’s born at the exact moment that her father and mother are born, because without those events, her existence would be impossible.

Or was she born when the first single-celled organism finally became multicellular, and its ancestor crawled out of the sea?

The more closely you look at time, the more you notice there’s nothing to see. There are no boundaries around when events start and stop. There are no discrete units to measure a moment, only a continuous flow in causation of itself.

There is only now, and now, and now.

The more you look at matter, the more you realize it’s not solid.

The body we experience as hard and dense is actually more air than land. We are completely porous, on a microscopic level. Constituted of trillions of cells, surrounded by constellations of empty space. Inside each nucleus, even more particles vibrating with cellular energy.

You extend to infinity in both directions.

There is no difference between you and the room you are in. Your cells create a field of electrical energy which touches and interacts with everything around you, including other people.

There is no separation between anything or anybody. There is only the gradient of infinite change from one moment to the next.

Last night, I watched the sky flex and bloom in the mountains of Santa Monica. The sun pulsed an infinite bouquet of colors for two hours as it set over the valley. Every instant, a different color. Deep crimson to brilliant blue and green.

Every shade, every moment, a barely perceptible variation of the one just a second before.

I wonder if our lives are much like the pulsing colors over the night sky. Every moment. No separation. Only a gradient of experiences.

Only now, and now, and now.

We are all creators, but it’s easy to lose touch with that ability in our daily lives.

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